Of Guns, Guilds and Golden Rings
by Agents of Secret Stuff
Summary: "They say a smile goes a mile, but hers seemed to be travelling much further." Secret Santa for litashe... written by Gunpowder Cookies!


**AN: I'm not giving away who I am… but this is a Secret Santa for litashe. Who I bet will hate this crapsack fic.**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or any of its characters.**_

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><p><strong>~ Of Guns, Guilds and Golden Rings ~<strong>

When Bisca thought back and tried to pinpoint the beginning, she found it difficult. Because it didn't begin when she had met him, did it? And looking back, her life was such a twisting road that an exact start point was hard to specify. But the more she pondered, the more certain she was that it began around eight years ago. And she was sure that it didn't even begin in Fiore, but in her homeland to the west. Much deliberating brought her to a final decision- it began in a run down, half empty saloon out in the middle of nowhere.

Now what was it called again? …Ah, yes. _Marlow's_.

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><p>A marked and worn bar, some rickety stools. A bartender drinking by himself, a lady perched on the counter. A slumped figure downing whiskey. Three figures sat around a dusty table, hunched over their cards. Two men, one woman, all broke.<p>

"Got any threes?"

"Go fish."

Bisca groaned and took another card from her pile. "If things go on at this rate, I'll end up eating my scarf just to survive." Fanning out the cards, she scanned for any opportunity, but was met with disappointment. She just had to keep a poker face and maybe, just maybe…

Colin Marlow, who was wiping down the grubby counter, called to her. "Don't forget my offer, Bis."

The woman snarled, turning to glare at him. "I said no, and that's final."

"Being one of the girls ain't so bad, Bis. Board, lodgings…" A girl drawled, probably in her early twenties and dressed in a rather provocative outfit. Despite her words she seemed as blank and unenthusiastic as a wall.

"…Having to swallow your pride. I've said it once and I'll say it again- No."

Marlow called again, eyes fixed on the jade haired girl. "You're eighteen in two months, ain't cha?"

She nodded.

"Two months is a lotta thinking time, Bis. And you might wanna take that time. Being a mage is good and all, but look- it ain't bringin' in much dough, is it?"

That was what made Marlow annoy Bisca so much- he was a dirty, lying and philandering bastard who tried to add every young girl who walked through the doors to his prostitute crew, but he knew exactly _how _to manipulate people.

She wasn't falling for it.

Bisca opened her mouth to retort when the slumped figure by the bar stirred.

"A mage, are you? Quit while the going's good, girl."

She frowned. This guy's voice, his accent and his clothing- everything about him seemed alien, unfamiliar. In fact, it was as though he'd just been unceremoniously dumped into this dusty, dead region of the west, the domain of the dishonest. The two men she was gambling with grumbled, impatient to continue with their game, but Bisca was mesmerised by this foreigner. Throwing her cards down on the table, she strode over and leant on the counter, staring at the man intently.

"You're not from these parts, are you?"

At first she was answered with silence, but in the end the man sighed. "Quite right, Miss. I used to live east of here."

"So in the town of-"

The man laughed. "No, no. Further than that. I used to live in Fiore." He said wistfully.

Fiore… that word brought up déjà vu, familiar yet just out of her grasp.

"Fiore?" Bisca murmured, racking her brain before chirpily repeating the word, eyes lighting up. "I've heard of there! That's where they've got all those mage guilds and the magic whatchamacallit, uh… council!"

"Yes… Fiore. A country rich in magic- bought and sold, professional mages-"

"How do I get there?" She asked, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Because she felt it, she could almost taste it, the magic that she had only dreamt about as a child. Maybe, just maybe, this promised land could be what changed her life for the better.

A painful silence stretched out agonisingly.

The man sighed yet again. "Didn't you hear me, girl? Give up. Go back to your father if you have to, because being a mage isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Bisca snorted, fists balling out of habit until her knuckles were white. There are lines that should never be cross, fine, fine lines- this guy was toeing the most crucial one in her life. "Go back to my pa? I'd rather be one of Marlow's girls than see that drunkie again. And trust me, there's not a snowball's chance in hell of that either."

"Oh really?" the man hissed before fully looking her in the face; she was only just able to stifle a gasp, used all her willpower not to back away. A long scar ran through his face, leaving one eye in a squint, his nose a mess and his mouth in a permanent scowl. Yet what terrified her most were his eyes, full of sorrowful, toxic anger. Neither said anything, but when he was sure that he'd made an impact he returned to slouching.

So imagine his surprise when he saw a few coins on the table.

"Tell me how to get to Fiore."

The girl was tougher than he thought.

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><p>"Happy birthday!" a sing-song voice said, dumping something on the counter. Bisca groaned, not even looking up.<p>

"If that's cake, then no thanks."

Okay, so she hadn't expected to arrive in Fiore and end up in a guild within the first week or so. But now she had spent just over a month working in a _cake shop _with a happy-go-lucky Pollyanna-esque owner who was so sickly sweet that she made the cowboy girl's teeth hurt.

It didn't help that Bisca hated sweet things.

"Aaaw, come on!" her boss chided, wagging a finger. "You're eighteen! Isn't that great?"

"Eighteen and working in a cake shop. Whoop de _fucking_ doo."

"Now-now, what did we say about swearing?"

"Oh, goshdarnit, I seem to have forgotten. Whoop de _freaking_ doo."

The mentally younger woman sighed. "Are all western people like this?"

"Are all eastern people like this?"

A sigh. "You know, a slightly more positive attitude wouldn't hurt …"

"Like what?"

"Like not bringing a gun to work."

Bisca was about to bite back when a tinkling resonated through the shop as the door was opened. The manager let out a squeak and tottered back to her baking whilst Bisca grumbled, standing upright, ready to cater for-

-for a tall, red headed woman in armour?

The girl's jaw dropped, but she managed to regain her composure in time to plaster her customer service smile on and robotically drawl out her stock line of a welcome and an inquiry into what the customer wanted.

A strawberry cake.

Trying not to gag, Bisca turned to fetch one off the shelf when the woman spoke.

"Are you a mage?"

Her grin faltered. "How'd ya guess?"

The woman smiled and indicated to the pistol at Bisca's belt. "That's a magic gun, isn't it?"

She couldn't help chuckling as she brought the fruit and sugar monstrosity over. "Yes, I'm a mage. And before you ask: yes, I'm from the West."

Her customer had a nice smile- subtle, but nonetheless present. "That's strange- we've already got a Western gunner."

"What a coincidence- we don't get many mages over there and- wait, what?"

"My guild. Fairy Tail."

"Oh!"

When the customer had left, Bisca leaned on the counter, propped up on her elbows.

"Fairy Tail, huh?"

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><p>The first thing that happened when she walked into Fairy Tail?<p>

Somebody's snowflake patterned boxers were thrown at her head and she thought that she'd taken a wrong turn into a stripper club.

"Oh shit, where's my underwear?"

"HA! Take that, Icicle!"

"Shut it, Flame Boy!"

And then a butt naked teen came up, took his underwear and ran back into the fray.

If first impressions were everything, then Fairy Tail differed greatly from her expectations.

Later on, after being accepted, Bisca was sitting at the bar. "It's so cool!" the girl exclaimed, admiring her new guild mark. Mirajane the bartender grinned.

"You've got such a cute accent, you know that?"

To this Bisca groaned. "I'm gonna have to learn to talk normal- people keep askin' me where I come from."

"You'll catch on- Alzack did."

Bisca's eyes lit up in recognition. "So he's the other sniper?"

"Mmmmhmm. Strange guy, keeps to himself, but you two will get on well no doubt."

Bisca nodded and took a sip of her drink before choking on it as she realised something.

Mirajane looked at her in a mixture of worry and disbelief at she spluttered "What did you say his name was?"

"Alzack…"

"Surname?"

"Oh! Connell. Alzack Connell."

At that moment in time, two short words flashed through her mind.

_Oh shit._

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><p>Every savvy character in the Wild West had two lists in their minds- people you could trust and people to avoid.<p>

Alzack Connell was a frequent name on the latter list.

Little was actually known about him, apart from a few tales of epic escapades, none of which fell on the right side of the law. There were debates; some said he was a gangleader, others a nutter.

In fact, he started out as quite a nice guy before he discovered his magic and was disinherited.

Back then he was only fourteen, young and vulnerable. And he was easily manipulated, so much that he soon found himself drawn into a gang of outlaws and rogue mages. And they used him because they tricked him into thinking he was valuable.

He got the last laugh though, escaping when the law caught up with them.

From then on, Alzack Connell worked solo and he worked well. A few robberies here and there and his face was on wanted posters around the state, his name was whispered and his deeds were gossiped about. For a while he didn't care, because he'd found purpose and recognition. Three years on a high, filled with adrenaline and criminality.

The fourth year started to turn sour- the law were pressing harder for his capture and the thrill started to wear away. He started to resent his life, to wish for brighter days. Trying to claw back his daredevil bliss, he carried out another robbery which left a bitter taste in his mouth.

What he needed was change, and that change could not occur in his homeland.

That change occurred the moment he stepped off a small, rickety ship and onto Fiore soil.

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><p>He observed the newcomer from a distance. Her clothing and accent made it plain as day that she was Western, and, judging by the rumours he heard, she also used gun magic.<p>

She was bringing back what he didn't want. Alzack decided to avoid her, even though he knew neither her name nor her intentions.

Bisca, on the other hand, was in hot pursuit.

They played cat and mouse for two weeks. She walked into the guild; he lingered in the background before slithering out. She went outside; he scuttled into a nearby shop. He was walking in the park, she was approaching, and he sat on a bench and tried to look inconspicuous.

But it didn't work and she dumped herself next to him, beaming at her triumph. And it was a shame, really, because he was actually starting to like their little game.

Now that he saw her up close, however, he found his throat dry. Her eyes were a violet brown, like deep, dark plums. She had sharp features that were only enhanced by her wine red lipstick, both of which made her smile breathtakingly bright.

So he was disappointed when the brief smile of content faded away and is replaced by a decidedly stony face.

"You're Alzack Connell, right?" Her voice made him smile, if only because she was making a noticeable effort not to sound western.

But it was serious business, a serious conversation. "Yes I am."

She eyed him cautiously, being sure to keep a substantial amount of space between him. "Alzack Connell, outlaw from the west, responsible for a handful of bank robberies, a few break-ins and countless petty crimes?"

"Nice to see that I'm well known." He snarked before going silent at her steel gaze. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, a dreadful inkling of what was to come.

She opened her mouth and he cut her off. "You're going to hand me in to the authorities, aren't you?"

Bisca stared at him in a stunned shock for several long, painful seconds before bursting into fits of hysterical giggles.

And so he was staring at this madwoman who was laughing herself silly over what he thought was serious business.

"Oh, no!" she chuckled, wiping a tear from her eye – her captivating, plum coloured eye that he found himself more fond of than was probably safe – before going on to give such an honest explanation that pierced his heart like a bullet. "You left because you wanted a change, didn't you? Well, so did I." She held out a hand. "So, are we friends or what?"

And then he was smiling, something he hadn't done for a while. So he took her hand, grinning goofily. "Friends are okay… how about teammates?"

They say that a smile can go a mile, but hers seemed to be travelling much further.

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><p>Just over a year later and she's screaming, trying to writhe out of a dark mage's grip. But he has a clump of her hair clenched firmly in his clammy fist. She wriggles and kicks and swears, but he's now got an arm around her waist and she has to stop due to limited oxygen supply. Bisca has rarely been the damsel in distress, but now that she's been thrust into that role she decides that <em>gender stereotypes suck.<em>

The guy grins smugly. "There's no point in that, lass. Your guy can't shoot when I've got you."

And then his words were contradicted, humorously so. "Guns Magic: Sunlight Shot!"

Now it's her time to smirk. _Took your sweet time, Alzack._

A blinding light engulfs them, and her captive yelps, letting go of her to shield his eyes. Bisca simply adjusts her hat before swiftly swiping at his feet and knocking him to the ground.

Alzack, on the other hand, is dashing over, heart pounding. It was all his fault, and he just hopes that she is okay; if she isn't, he'd never forgive himself. Yet all those fears and worries evaporate as the magic fades away and shows his partner with one boot pinning her enemy to the floor and a hand pointing a pistol at him. As always, she is smiling, a sight he loves.

When all is done and dusted and they are taking the train home, the two snipers converse.

"That was quite a good job, wasn't it?"

He agrees, yet she sighs, staring out of the window wistfully. "We were lucky to find that one. Ever since Tenrou…"

There is a pregnant silent as they silently mourn their lost teammates.

And she is suddenly sick of waiting. Her thoughts stray elsewhere and she fiddles awkwardly, readjusting her scarf, then her hat, then resorting to fingering the hem of her dress. Her mind runs fast, skimming over all of the possible ways she can say it.

Eventually, she settles.

"Fairy Tail was like a family, huh?"

"Yeah." He deadpans, eyes still fixed on the passing blur of landscape.

She bites her lip, feeling butterflies in her stomach. This could be ruining everything, it could be the end of a beautiful partnership… but she can't go back, not now that she has resolved to ask.

"What do you think about starting our own family?"

He is briefly paralysed before turning around to look at her; she is avoiding eye contact as a light rosy blush dusts her cheeks.

At this moment, there is only one sound he can make. And that one sound is a rather stupid sounding, "eh?

And so she repeats it as clearly and plainly as she possibly can whilst fishing around her bag for a ring.

"I'm asking you to marry me, dipshit."

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><p><strong>AN: I had lots, lots more ideas, but in the end they got cut out in favour of this… umm… 'sincere' ending. Overall I'm quite content. I got it out in time.<strong>

**Lit, you are the boss and we all love you. Just sayin'.**


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